A Study in Sorcery
by shooting-stetsons
Summary: A Sherlock/Harry Potter AU where some of the key characters are professors at Hogwarts. Originally posted on my Tumblr.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Some of you may or may not recognize this from Tumblr, and I just want you to know that YES, I am the original author of this series. That's why I changed my penname here to shooting-stetsons, so I would match over. I've made a few grammatical alterations mostly because I wrote the majority of these snippets in the series directly in the text box on Tumblr, so now it's a bit cleaned up. Thanks for reading!**

It seemed to be some sort of tradition that Hogwarts had to have at least one professor no one could stand. Before, when Harry Potter was around, it was the infamous Professor Snape, or Professor Umbridge. After that, there had been an Arithmancy professor named Wiggins who was so unbearable that most students blocked him out of their memories completely. Now, to the bane of the student body, there was Holmes.

He wasn't so bad - at least according to the silly girls who sighed and fawned over him. And some of the more secretive boys. Certainly, Holmes was good-looking enough, but that seemed to be a running trend among the staff lately. Professor Lestrade, in Transfiguration, couldn't go more than an afternoon without a student coming in for extra practice, usually with posture and form. Professor Watson, who was not only flying instructor and dueling coach but the Muggle Studies professor, had more broomstick and wand jokes aimed at him than anyone cared to hear in a lifetime. But he had the sort of personality that made it easy to relax around him. Students always were free to talk to him about anything on their minds, and usually took advantage of that. Even the teensy-bit unbalanced potions master, Professor Moriarty, had a sort of deranged charm to him, the groundskeeper Moran roughly approachable, and Nurse Molly was sweet and remembered all her patients' names.

There was no longer a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, not since Voldemort's death nearly twenty years ago, but after the first week with Holmes, most students wished it would come back with a vengeance. At his very first lesson he was five minutes late, then burst in with a swish of his trailing cloak, mouth going at a thousand miles a minute and not passing even a glance toward his bewildered students.

"Wands out, everyone, and you'd better behave responsibly if you've truly been trusted with them for three years. That means no poking, no unauthorized spells, keeping the pointy ends away from your faces, and no being idiots, understand? Most professors like to say there's no such thing as a stupid question - I disagree; there are a lot of stupid questions, especially if you don't listen. Take every word I say as gospel and don't fall asleep or I'll throw the nearest projectile, and don't think I'll pity you if you can't deflect it in time. There will be no skiving off, because I'll know if you're lying, and there will be random pop quizzes through the term to make sure you're keeping up with the reading. We'll start with Shield Charms, something even the most inadequate first-years can grasp, shall we?"

Even if he hadn't talked to them like babies at the end, everyone hated him.

Holmes was never happy with anyone, never smiled, and never gave praise, even if a student did something truly brilliant and inspired with his lessons. The closest he would get at complimenting someone was to lean back in his chair, feet on the desk, and say, "You could have done worse, I suppose. At least you didn't kill me." He only ever looked interested when a student lipped off in class or Professor Lestrade showed up for a word.

That was another funny thing about Professor Holmes. He liked mysteries, but not in the way that most people liked mysteries. Most people read mystery books or went to the Muggle cinema. Holmes solved them, even mundane ones like missing magical creatures that escaped into the forest, or students who cheated on their exams. Professor Lestrade seemed to have a lot of trouble with cheaters (students being too busy thinking about his bum to study), and Holmes always found them, which only made the student body resent him further.

His pursuits brought him to dueling club practice one day in October, where for the first time he met Professor Watson. The moment he entered the practice room a hush fell over the students, causing Watson to look up in alarm; they all knew that one of their number was going to get in big trouble when Holmes deigned to leave his office and seek out other venues where students gathered.

"So, the best technique would be to - guys?" asked Watson, turning to see Holmes in the door. His eyebrows rose. "Ah, Professor Holmes, what a pleasant surprise. Are you here for a lesson?"

There were scattered giggles around the room as Holmes scowled. By then it was common knowledge that, though he was a genius in almost every other respect, Holmes was a terrible duelist. He never followed the rules and had a violent, sloppy technique. "Actually, I was going to correct your form," he retorted.

Hushed "Ooooh"s spread across the room. Watson smirked slightly. "Really? And what's wrong with it?"

"It's - ah - crooked."

"Crooked?"

More giggles. "Perhaps it could be more improved if you didn't have a psychosomatic limp."

"Pardon?" There was something in Watson's voice that issued a challenge. Students reflexively began to move back toward the edges of the room, sensing a fight.

"You heard me loud and clear. Your limp is psychosomatic. It's all in your head."

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, really. But I bet you ten Galleons I can fix it."

"Oh, _really?_"

"_Flipendo!_"

Watson dodged immediately away and shot back a spell of his own. They weren't even on the dueling tarmac, and students had to quickly back away even further to press against the walls as the fight very quickly got messy. Even to the students who hadn't known, it was clear that Holmes either didn't know the rules of dueling or disregarded them completely, amplifying his voice and shrieking or shooting off blinding sparks to disorient Watson before stabbing a curse at him. Watson dodged each one expertly around his own spells, though it was close a few times and the smell of singed hair and wool soon filled the air.

With an almost lazy flick of his wand the spells momentarily stopped flying, and Watson snapped, "This isn't exactly a fair fight, Professor."

The taller man grinned. "Oh, come now, Professor, even your Muggle sister could do better after indulging some of her nastier habits."

Watson dropped his wand and charged him. For a moment Holmes' eyes widened with pure panic before immobilizing Watson with a leg-locker jinx. He knelt at his colleague's side, handing back his wand. "I told you it was in your head," he smirked before getting up again to point at Miranda Hodgins. "You. With me to the Headmistress' office, now."

He swept out, with Miranda darkly following and the remaining students in awe. Watson reversed the jinx and gaped after Holmes while absently stretching his leg, the one he'd been limping on for as long as he'd worked at Hogwarts. Holmes was right; he hadn't limped at all during the duel, and especially not when Watson had charged at him.

Most students thought the professors would hate one another on principle after that incident. They were then almost painfully surprised when, the next morning at breakfast, Holmes and Watson were seen sitting with their heads bowed closely together, talking as closely as childhood friends.


	2. Chapter 2

"Professor."

"Good morning, Professor."

They passed one another in the corridors with a polite nod and, on Watson's part, a smile. Holmes' face was stony, even seemed cold, to anyone passing him. Then there would be a break in the crowds, the corridor would empty, and Sherlock would indulge himself.

Then there were the conversations that took place where no one would see, in far-off corridors away from classrooms and prying eyes. There, Sherlock allowed himself a brief grin at his new friend, basking in the open admiration the shorter wizard had for him. It was refreshing, to be so well-liked, even if it was only one person. Lestrade tolerated him, Molly worshipped him on the verge of obsession, and Moriarty...Sherlock shivered and reluctantly let the potions professor slip out of his thoughts. John Watson, on the other hand, merely liked him, and treated him with the same kindness and respect (with just a dash of awe) that he did everyone else.

"How's dueling club?"

"Fine, and Defense class?"

"Adequate."

"Oh, come now, Professor, surely it's not all bad."

"I didn't say _bad_, did I? I said _adequate._"

"Well you never give the light of day to anything other than extraordinary, don't you?"

"No, I don't."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"I think you know, _Professor_."

"Yes, I suppose I do. Professor."

A huddle of students who had been about to come out from behind the wall tapestry suddenly froze and stared at one another in awe. Were Holmes and Watson…_flirting?_ That was so many levels of weird they couldn't comprehend it, and had to endure another several minutes of the strange conversation before deciding to just go another way to class.


	3. Chapter 3

By Halloween, "Professor" thing was getting a little bit weird.

Holmes and Watson never called one another by their names like the rest of the professors. They were all Greg, Molly, Jim, Seb (or Basher, even to students), Neville, Rhea, and all that, but to one another it was a mere crisp "Professor." That was what had led most students to believe that Holmes and Watson hated one another. Most people who liked one another actually called one another by their names, and those two…well, it was just plain odd.

"Professor."

"Professor."

~

"Ah, terribly sorry, could you pass that back, Professor?"

"Of course, Professor."

~

"Here's that book on indigenous flesh-eating plants you were asking about, Professor."

"Thank you very much, Professor, I'm sure it'll be a fascinating study."

"It certainly was for me, Professor."

~

It took a shamefully long time for the few who had the chance to overhear such exchanges - namely, Miranda Hodgins and Kasey Minch, a pair of passionate busybodies if ever there were a greater one - to realize that, yes, their professors were flirting with one another. "That's just…"

"I know."

"But they…"

"I _know_."

"Poor Professor Watson!"

"_I KNOW!_ He must have no idea what he's getting into with a horrible berk like Holmes!" ranted Miranda. "We need to find him a proper partner, not _him_, he's absolutely terrible!"

Kasey nodded her head vehemently. "I think Nurse Hooper would suit him better, to be honest. And I know he likes both men and women, because he had all those girlfriends when he was with the Wasps, remember? We ought to try and fix them up, or at least with Basher. They might get on well."

The girls came to a quick agreement: they would do everything in their power to keep Holmes' negative influence as far from Watson as possible, and try to help him toward someone more suited for him. Little did they know, at that exact same moment out on the deserted Quidditch pitch, there were two faint figures floating about on broomsticks. One was flying with ease, looping and weaving through the air, while the other hovered closer to the ground, uncertain.

"Come on, Sherlock, it's easy!"

"If it were easy I would have learned how to by now!"

"No, you would have learned by now if you hadn't always had your head in a book rather than practicing," John laughed, zooming closer and offering out a hand. "Here, come on, I'll show you."

Sherlock raised one imperious eyebrow. "Really, John, that's the best you can think of to get me on the same broomstick? I at least could pretend to fall off, first, if it would make you feel more special."

"Oy, shut up and climb aboard, you dick."

With a toothy grin in the fading twilight, Sherlock reached across the gap.


End file.
